Page 74 of Ella’s Desire

They definitely did not need Bronson’s protective side making him careless.

“I do not want you making any reckless attempts to save me, Bronson.” Ella stared pointedly at him, while he held the cloth to his cheek despite the steady rain. “Trying to look after me could get you killed, especially where we are going.”

He said nothing.

“I don’t need your protection.” She paid the boy minding their horses and swung into her saddle. “I’ll never be the helpless woman who requires saving that you find so attractive. And it would be pointless for you to get yourself killed in a needless attempt to save me.”

Bronson mounted his horse. He didn’t speak again until they left the small, dismal village. “I didn’t attack them because I thought you were defenseless or in need saving. I did it because they didn’t respect you.”

“They didn’t respect me?” Ella regarded him in confusion. “They’re reivers. They respect no one.”

“But it was you. And you deserve respect.” He removed the linen from his face finally, revealing the skin already darkening with a bruise. “They should step back as you pass, bow at your feet, be in awe of your beauty. Not hurl insults at you and leer at you like a beast in heat. I can’t stand for it.”

“So, you weren’t trying to protect me, you were defending my honor?”

Bronson nodded. His expression was sheepish, boyish, and far more endearing than she wanted to allow herself to acknowledge. A consummate courtier. And yet, it was more appealing than she cared to admit. Charming, even.

“When we are in the debatable lands, refrain from caring so for my honor.” She slid a glance in his direction. “It is not worth your life or the lives of Lark and Leila.”

Because as much as she hated to admit it, she needed Bronson here. She could not save Leila and Lark on her own—if such a feat could be done at all.

Bronson knew Ella was right. Trying to save her would put them all at risk. And yet, he could not tolerate the idea of her being injured. Or worse.

In truth, he didn’t want her there. No woman should face such danger. And yet Lark did. As did Leila. His chest squeezed around the thought of them held captive by rough men.

He glanced up at the sky where the sun had begun to sink at an interminable pace into the blanket of heavy storm clouds. It would feel like a lifetime until night fell, until all was quiet enough for them to sneak into the valley.

They didn’t converse as they made their way toward the debatable lands. Ella was no doubt as lost in her thoughts as he was. The only men they saw on their journey were from a distance, and none attempted to come closer.

The rain had finally ceased, and the colors of sunset were breaking through the barrier of dark clouds to turn the world to gold and red. Ella slowed her horse. “I think this might be it.”

Bronson scanned the grass-covered hills swelling before them that no doubt led to the valley the barmaid had spoken of. His pulse spiked. Lark and Leila were somewhere nearby. “I think you are correct,” he replied.

A stream bisected the grassland like a ragged wound. On the side opposite them was a stone structure, square in shape and lacking a door or shutters. He nodded in that direction. “That would be an ideal location to wait.”

“Aye.” Ella nudged her horse toward it. “Though we’ll need to ensure it’s uninhabited first.”

They crossed the stream and Bronson slipped from his horse the same time Ella did. Their gazes met. He anticipated she would try to wave him away, but he would be damned if he let her take on the risk all by herself. If anything, she ought to wait with the horses while he went in.

Instead, they crept forward together and swept into the darkness within, weapons at the ready.

The room was empty and silent, save for the echoing huff of their breathing in the intense quiet. The roof overhead appeared to be in relatively good repair and kept out most of the rain that continued to fall steadily upon them. Quickly, they brought the horses inside to ensure their location remained discreet, and set about making the building as comfortable as possible without a fire.

They opted to leave their gambesons and gear on in the event they were attacked, though the sodden clothing against their skin left an uncomfortable chill. Ella sat in the driest corner of the structure, but Bronson found he could not sit. An image continued to rise in his mind of Lark and Leila, bound and scared, waiting to see if they would be rescued. His heart crumpled.

Seeing his sister at Berkley Manor in rags had been difficult enough, but at least there, she had been safe.

He had hated his father for having abandoned Brigid and Lark, and yet he had done something far worse by putting them in immediate danger. The desolation of the structure pressed in on him and crushed the wall he’d built up to avoid thinking of Lark. It helped him remain focused on the journey and had held his worries at bay. The wetness in the air sank a chill deep into the marrow of his bones. He shivered.

Were Lark and Leila cold? The invisible belt around his chest drew tight.

Had they been beaten? Would they be tortured? Were they scared?

That was a foolish question. Of course, they’d be scared.

He drew in a slow breath to ease the tension. There was nothing for them to do now but suffer the passing of time and the unknown.

“This waiting feels as though it will last an eternity,” Ella said, as if she was reading his mind. “I’ve been able to push them from my mind while we were traveling. But now that we must endure the drag of time…”